Solitude
by IncompleteWithoutLife
Summary: "Whosoever is delighted by solitude is either a wild beast or a god." - Aristotle
1. Chapter: One

_**Just another story. Different from White**_ _ **—** ***cough, cough* other story that a lot of individuals ripped into. Changed the style of writing for this one, which isn't so hard as I thought it'd be. Alright it was really hard to, but eh, who cares how many days I spent trying to.**_

 ** _Time leap next chapter and I think you'll (maybe) like the flip of the script I have planned. It'll sorta kind, maybe not so much follow the books/movie._**

 _ **But. Alice has visions, and her visions are much more vivid than most like to indulge her with.**_

* * *

 ** _Checkmate_**

Solitude was, harmonious, and tranquil—an embodiment of _her_. A moment in which she could dwell on the emptiness that elucidated her life ("her second death.") Seclusion was all that the universe had to offer her while her blood was still warm, oh how the reverence of that _stillness_ calls to her. Quiet and hallow; a solace from the pain that had erupted with her murder. Death, she found, was a liberty because it offered much more than desolation that life itself could only give. She delved into the infatuation of aloneness far too often for it to be deemed an activity but submerged into it far too many times for it not to be a livelihood.

Death had accepted her with the warmth of solitude (no more screams, even more silent than her pleas, far more serene than her _hurt_.) And it had been divine, but only momentary. He had replaced the silence, her white noise with a fire hellbent on ruination, her savior had her part with death. Ripped her from the space of alone and thrust her into the arms of another death—only this one was not as giving.

"Rose?"

Rosalie draws her attention from the paved road and onto her _family_. Tentative smiles peer at her with acceptance and empathy. A pain of her own reflective in the eight pair of honey orbs cautious of her.

She removes herself from the perch atop her polished convertible and inclines her head mutely. Silence offers much more than the devastation of them and the scene of _them_ all. (Hands firmly complacent in their respective partners hand. Souls content in this 'life.') They take to her reverence for silence willfully. And they all lead her towards the cafeteria with low murmurs to themselves on the casual conversation about some new student meant to be here today.

Forks, she deemed, was ordinarily stifled by plain occurrences. It rained, rained, and continued on with an occasional sunny afternoon; of which often lead to an evening of rain. If the dreary clouds did not dampen her mood, then surly it was the overly optimistic townsmen that insisted on over compensating for their drab weather. They had not created a façade, but more of an insistent candor—the people here were, very much open, but only in a reserved manner.

(Forks also gave her seclusion in its own right.)

A wave of venom pooled into her mouth once they entered the well assembled cafeteria. It provided her with the putrid smell she despised more than any. _Blood_. It was a melodic call to her, but it seemed so bleak and vile with her history with it.

"Oh, there she is." Alice whispers so only the small group could hear. "She's…"

"Plain? Human?" Emmett offers with a small chuckle.

Rosalie lifts her head at the fresh scent as her nostrils flare at the novel aroma, however potent and unusual, she does not meet the scene that would arrive with the smell. Instead her stare remains constant as her eyes trace the specs of dirt lining the tiled floor, but her ears selectively open in piqued interest while the chatter of the cafeteria had hushed substantially with their arrival.

Still. She precisely identifies the conversation she'd intended to find.

"You've noticed the actual beauty of the student body…Those are the Cullens. The shortest one who looks like she's about to implode with happiness is Alice, the one next to her who looks like he's in physical pain is Jasper, and the other one who looked like someone pissed in his cereal is Edward—"

" _What's—who's the blonde?"_

Rosalie flinches at the contentment in the overly meek voice, or maybe it's the ambivalent timber hidden in the low inquiry.

"Oh' that 'goddess' is Rosalie. She doesn't talk much but when she does, she can be an absolute bitch."

Her lips curl into an entertained smile at the bitter comment. And she returns her attention to her own table as a sardonic chortle ensues from her coven. The chatter from the table she'd been invasive to shifts onto a new topic as she toys with an apple Edward had rolled to her in the midst of it all.

"I think that's your cue to turn down the animosity Rosalie and Edward." Alice advises easily.

Edward settles the small vampire with a bored stare, and her own shoulders lift noncommittally. The reactions elicit a cackle from Emmett and a strained but honest smile from Jasper. The innocuous educes the spat she apathetically listens to as the table share trivial barb with one another.

" _Rosalie_."

Her neck cranes towards the whisper of her name, head tilted deliberately in the direction of her caller. She observes a plain thick sweater, washed jeans, and dirty converse. A gently sloped nose, pale but lively cheeks, dark brown hair, and a dainty unadorned frame is all that she accounts for. Then her stare is matched mutely—doe eyes meet her own contrite and sad.

She finds a vacancy in their peer, and it makes her shiver. The heartbeat controverted the evenness within the dilated pupils, erratic and loud. Some sort of beauty exudes from the modest human, a memorably plain beauty. Rosalie expels the contest with a flat breath and strict eyes.

A bitter chuckle resounds, void of all valid amusement; it shares an ironic emptiness to any who dares listen.

…

Alice tilts her head deliberately. Stare aimlessly defiant in the rather apprehensive blonde, though _she_ had not contributed to the future, _yet_.

The smaller woman blinks, shoulders hiking at the eerily silent pair. She observers both human and vampire alike in many ways they wouldn't have yet the bravery to speak upon until much later.

* * *

 _Settle down._

 _An affirmation she'd created for a purpose: "It will all prove to be futile. The pain, if you cannot settle down." Her mind may tame her compulsive behavior, only_ _—_ _only, her emotions will irrevocably sway her decisions if granted an opportunistic moment._

 _And it so occurs by happenstance that a pale-pink lip tucked innocently between pearly teeth elicits a feeble whine (left soundly) from her throat; her tender soul howling._

 _Momentarily stunted, she nearly miscalculated the patent brilliance poured into the move._

 _A white knight is left out in the open: queen surrendered hopelessly, a hapless pawn open to be victimized, only if she will dare to relinquish her own Rook, Bishop, and queen for the sake of one or the other sacrificed. One mere move that will devastate her ideal scheme._

 _Brow arched, and spine poised to formulate a plausible retaliation. Rosalie_ _blinks, squints, and at once flicks her mind between the one piece and that deliberated lip_ _—_ _her King is thwarted._

" _Checkmate."_

 _Comes a hoarse, and firm timbre._

 _Rosalie dares to venture to the oblivious innocence, and the sheer verbosity of that virtuous countenance stealthily hinders her; ineluctably her honey orbs morph into dark irises, pupils dilating. Dark embers peer at her from below thick eyelashes, and that warrantless lip bite returns. The tinged cheeks prickled with a certain blush helps none as brunette locks are brushed behind an ear shyly._

 _A smile coquettish smile toys with her lips, as she settles into her seat in entertained defeat._

" _Bested by a mere human," Rosalie tsk heartily. "What exactly are the telling's of my character?"_

 _Bella blinks, but a warm grin spreads onto her face, reaching her eyes brilliantly._

" _That maybe you're more prone to distraction than you initially realize." Bella retorts lowly._

 _Rosalie blinks, blinks, once more, and becomes wholly ruined by the intentional tongue peeking out to moisten a worried bottom lip. Mouth parted in ways of perplexed senselessness, the blonde vampire shifts in a fabricated poise. Although she does intend to permit her involved eyes to remain downcast, to further highlight the red painting the human's cheeks; ears firmly pleased by the clamor about the erratic heartbeat._

 _Rosalie supposes she should take pity on her mate, who clears her throat absurdly loud. She heaves a nostalgic breath. Relenting in her amusement._

 _They do not part with the heated stare._

" _Best two out of three?"_

" _Of course."_

 _Bella laughs, a loud laugh, at the instant reply._

 _Settling her pieces back into place, Bella tears her eyes away from the blonde._

" _Try not to get distracted this time," Bella murmurs slyly. "I'd like to beat you with no excuses."_

 _It's Rosalie's opportunity to laugh honestly,_ _and she takes to it easily._

 _Checkmate indeed._

* * *

Alice anxiously taps her fingers on the table before her, bottom lip tucked underneath her teeth habitually. And Rosalie, one who voluntarily thrives from seclusion, peers at her tapping fingers blankly.

She will, Rosalie, _has_ already felt that her solitude is threatened. By whom, she has yet to identify.

* * *

 ** _Blank._**


	2. Her

**I put some scenes off for another chapter...**

 **[Insert] - Time skip.**

* * *

 _ **Her**_

Rosalie sidles besides the small vampire mutely as said companion enlightens her on the future of yet another human. Ears tuned to her adoptive sister: mouth set into a firm scowl, pupils overblown into coal, binder violently clutched in her hand, an internal heaviness set into her bones.

Alice, was, _is_ an individual with such a lively character that none could but merely adore her—yet, admire with a fine resentment towards her turbulent intentions. Rosalie had deducted such once she'd become well acquainted with her intrusive interference with the future alone. It's innocent (pure and refined _connotation_ wise,) but Alice _spoke_ far too much. Often rapidly on a spiel about a particular event that's not yet occurred, and Rosalie believes it causes a beautiful ruination in a sense. While one would find it to be a positive to learn of the endless outcomes of the future, it certainly redefines the ability, the right, to act on the variability of the future. Alice was: invasive, often childish, more idealistic rather than realistic, but if not those distinct traits, then there would be no Alice that she has come to care for.

"He'll soon be swept of his feet by the woman of his momentary dreams. Literally, or I guess you can—"

Rosalie sticks her hand out instinctively, attention still stuck on Alice (an intuitive sadness follows her movements.) She merely peers at the steel thermos she'd caught before it could make a ruckus about the halls.

And a heartbeat resonates in her ears, full, and deep. Her lips curl into a faint smile as she hears the fitful beat. ' _Somehow she believes they've both been disturbed from their respective peace. Only this instance is defined, and trivial, (momentarily she's wholly thrust into an abyss of incertitude.)_ ' But the upturn of her mouth disappears quickly, replaced by curiosity.

Her stare finally settles on the human she'd saved from the embarrassment from there peers, and her left eyebrow is hitched involuntarily as she's met with a pair of familiar eyes. Pale fingers gently pry the thermos from her hands.

"I—Uhmm," Bella exhales softly. "Thanks."

Rosalie blinks, all interest erased as the human flicks her gaze to the ground. She becomes bored ( _sad_ ,) as those murky brown orbs aimlessly stare at the porcelain tiles.

"Hi Bella!" Alice chirps into the eerie silence.

Bella, two weeks into her arrival, scratches nervously at the back of her neck. And Rosalie frowns, hard lines etched into her face.

" _Oh_...uh, Hey."

Alice beams at the human and Rosalie can decipher that the tiny vampire already finds the human endearing in a way, and it unsettles her.

"We've never had the opportunity to properly introduce ourselves but I'm Alice, and this is…"

A beat of silence overcomes the trio, as the two brunettes stare at the blonde expectantly. Rosalie, stiff and disinterested, inclines her head at the human plainly. And too swift, far too quick for even her inhuman eyes to discern, a quirk of the brunette's lips occurs (it's over soon, and she finds that maybe she'd witnessed a delusion.)

"That's fine. I need to head to class but," Bella shuts her locker and turns around with a blank mien. "Thank you, _Rosalie_. I'll see you guys around?"

Rosalie _breathes_ —nostrils deliberate, while taking on the emphatic air, and she's upset at the residue scent that the brunette has leaves. Her hands flex (apprehensive, and trepidatious) as she peers at the form of the brunette winding around the sea of scurrying bodies albeit clumsily. However, the blonde displaces the unease and swivels around, on trek towards her initial route.

"Well isn't she just precious Rose?"

Rosalie flips her shoulders apathetically.

"I would hardly call a human precious Alice, especially one as plain as her."

(Alice, adoring peer, perceives the hint from the blonde: the despondent fall of her shoulders, parted mouth in awe, an idle stare, and the softened aura. It's a noticeable disparity from the saddened vampire from two weeks prior. A prickle exterior exudes from the blonde.)

(The sorrow from the past will carry a sorrow however many decades occur, but it _can_ be dampened.)

…

It's silence that she has honed in on, despite the perpetual prattle in the cafeteria. A melancholic proficiency that'd she'd refined within her. Over the years she's had the time to ruminate, and while there will be an eternal occurance about her thoughts, deliberating has grown rather dull. Her mind had a focal point, and it remained adamant on death; be it her own, the lives she'd taken, or anothers and their potent scent. It was an endless cycle that's been apparent for decades.

Thus, she brought forth a silence into existence; thick, soundless, and a fixture of herself. A moment in which she deluded herself that none of _this_ world would be able to shatter her distorted hush. Rosalie believed in her citadel, and it has not yet failed her until she had her bid of silence from how clamorous humanity proved to be.

 _A beacon,_ warm, loud, and easily contented—destroyed her, and her abstract place. Rosalie lifts her head perplexed by the sudden sound, body involuntarily shifts towards the source. Innocently enough it was laughter. One she hadn't heard before, husky, deep, but far too feminine to be male. And once she flips her head to the left, her features harden. Rosy cheeks, dark hair, tired but (brilliant) eyes, and of whom is an ordinary human. Of which appeared to have had recently, or will soon catch a cold.

The laughter dissolves into a fit of coughs, and an uncomfortable chuckle comes from _that_ human.

Rosalie observes the sick teen slyly. Crinkle appearing about the corners of her eyes as Bella smiles softly at some blonde haired boy patting her back, Rosalie huffs. Irritation settles within her at the truth that some flimsy human could dispel her silence with a coarse laugh.

* * *

She inhales the crisp wind easily—a contentment quivering within her once the acute scents halt her ability to breath properly without difficulty. Autumn had always been her favored season, there was this rather innocent perspective on the scene before her. Fallen leaves, all with various interpretations of a rustic hue, bundled bodies on an endeavor for shelter from the chill of the afternoon and the simple aridness of everyone who opposed the abundant three months. She found it rather tranquil to stand within the ferocity of its winds and the peculiarity it invoked

Only the peace is shattered, because she hears a familiar truck, a stutter about the failing alternator. Her lips break into a low tisk' as the sound has grown incredibly unpleasant over the last few days. It was only two weeks into the school year, and she was already tiresome of the brunette.

Still.

 _This_ has become a habitual occurrence; she stalls, _waits_ , for the teen to leave the confinement of that atrocious vehicle. Her nostrils flare while the wind tenderly blows a thick scent into her space, and she shivers. And it's without reservation that a torrent of venom leaks into her mouth. Once her stare encounters the human in all her essence, Rosalie falters from what was meant to only be a swift glance. It had only been one year, but the human had become eminent. An ambience of conviction outlaid the teen, she had returned from the summer _anew_. Hair, body, and all—however it did not compare to the novel presence the human now exudes. Bella was far from the meek individual from a year prior, and there was an aura, some distinctive feature that not even Rosalie could perceive.

And the stare (warm, blank, and vile in every sense.) Bella would _stare_. A recurrence from last year, but it remained steady, a dissonance about the way in which the human would peer at her with. However vicious, and resentful her own look would seem, Bella's stare remained oddly constant.

Rosalie bristles, attentive as the brunette trips on her way down from the truck. Her own eyes roll once Bella turns a harsh shade of red and visibly peers around to find if anyone had taken notice, unobservant and satisfied once no culprit was found.

 _This_ is the human that wholly mystifies her.

Rosalie sneers lowly.

"Idiot."

* * *

 ** _Rosalie is...gonna get there._**


	3. Chapter: Three

_**This chapter: A setup to the forthcoming drama.**_

 _ **Next chapter: Things begin to heat up...**_

* * *

 **Idle**

Rosalie was, _is_ , an individual that delivers far too many intricacies to account for. The blonde developed deathly placid persona, and it accounted for all; but she held a heated tenderness far in between an abyss of bleak hostility. A beautiful celestial moon that whispered a faint tune on a cool summers' eve, and a weary flame that erupted during a torrid heatwave—Rosalie was, _is_ , sadness in all its essence. She cared only minimally: coven, cars, and her own _space_. The very last is the most important, on this earth she found solitude to be most akin to death. It lured her in, and it was a concept that seemed much more physical than abstract.

 _Silence_ merely an attributed to her compulsive infatuation with isolation. Even as a human, she was more of an individual who'd much rather observe than converse. Conversation was trivial, inessential, substitutable, and often demonstrated human vanity. When her transformation hampered her voice due to her vile thirst, it only spurred her beliefs. Her first three months had been filled with silence, stillness, and thirst once the revelation for the unearthly monster she had become. She had ached, had been consumed with the notion of death within those months; it merely failed to overcome her.

The students trot into the lunchroom with worn, but wide smiles. And each, one by one, file into the wide space: some with chatty lips, others with silent mouths, another waves fervently, someone else hunches over until they've sat unseen. Her resolve weakens, pity for the overly reserved human.

 _lub-dub-lub…_ Rosalie lifts her head towards the familiar heartbeat; conventional, resolute and loud. She follows the tentative and soft smile deliberately; with her teeth and nostrils lowly flared, her eyes do not waver in pursuit. The uptick of the teen's lips is not meant for her own, but for another mousy human.

(He becomes apprehensive—the windswept emotions nearly devour him. As he devotes his attention onto the oblivious human, he becomes sullen. They're linked to one another violently. Alice inclines her head at his disturbed features, a silent promise to review his discovery.)

" _You look just a beautiful today as you did yesterday Bella-boo."_

(A leisure inhale, a blink, stealthy clench of her hands, and a silent exhale.)

" _I Mike Newton, want to personally extend to you Bella Swan an invitation to the party that's happening. Yes, this weekend! In light of Mikes parents leaving town for their anniversary."_

" _If,"_ Rosalie scowls at the playful timbre. " _And only if you stop speaking in third person will I agree to go."_

The heels of her chair scrape the floor with a vile shrill. All occupants of the cafeteria become attentive; interest piqued at the sudden display. Passive silence follows the eerily erratic movements of the usually most calculated Cullen.

Her swift exit leaves the student body, and coven utterly confounded.

…

Low and mute. The only pair of low circumspect dark orbs are watchful of the scene. An almost blended reality about them as they peer with a relatively somber and celestial reverence.

(Alice stills, head tilted in bemusement. Mind in a torrent for the salient stare, all too lost and far too sadistic to be untrue. She has witnessed that contemplative look once before—yet none come to mind.)

Bella dispels the moment in a keen movement, a rather volitional look of deliberate comprehension overcomes the once devoted stare. It leaves with an even more addled mind than before.

* * *

Alice sidles into the room in a nimble effort. It all becomes profound to her once the tiny vampire is settled on the brink of the bed; stare furtive. They share a common silence, and Alice smiles the same (that very same smile that had appeared moments before they'd decided to move back to Forks) washed, sincere, and evidently sad.

"Rosalie Hale at a party that doesn't have the finest of society in attendance. Why?"

The future occurs in a bleak manner, a partial commitment (there's so much hurt, fury.) Rosalie clicks her tongue as a meditative stare leers over her sharp features. An eyebrow raises prettily once she comes to a clarification with the modest query.

An obscured smile, tiny on her lips, follows her for an entirety of seven seconds.

"I have an itch. And I would like to scratch it, is all."

Conflicted by the rather intricate simplification, Alice inclines her head as to speak her compliance. The vision becomes even more dull, and she can only stare at the overly contended individual.

"Then I shall call upon the cavalry and notify them of your decision my fair lady."

Rosalie throws the vampire a bored frown, and plush pillow is stealthily plucked midair.

(Alice smiles the same—weary, optimistic and blithely tenacious. The future wasn't as bleak with the brilliant absence of dynamic development, in its wake seemed to be a formally resilient blonde.)

It so happens to occur like so. Unriddled with a sound sadness that shatters barriers.

* * *

 _(Bella can hear the call that's so vexed and loud, feel the despondency between them._ _Can feel the sadness trickle into her veins effectively. And she wants to ease it, lessen the thick air suffocating them both. The lure in her chest craves to settle the exponential distance.)_

 _Rosalie blinks, startled at the human she heard enter the empty house minutes prior. Her hands lower the book and seals it shut before setting down the novel onto the bedside table. Dark brown orbs peer at her from the doorway owlishly tormented, sullen and hopeful. The blonde stares into bleary eyes with a delicate question, head tilted sadly. She feels the eerily silent human._

 _"You deserve so much more than sadness. How can I make you happy?"_

 _It weakens her. The hollowness within her chest expands with the tune of the brunettes tattered breaths. Rosalie is hesitant to maneuver off the bed, and she does so leisurely._

 _Bella mien pensive and delicately perplexed, directs a shadow of a smile towards the vampire. Rosalie, (damned to be cold, detached, and harsh) smirks at the human with a warmth that could rival the sun. Adoration sneers at her pure sincerity, balked by her loyalty._

 _Rosalie comes to wrap her hands around the small human with an intimacy that curls Bellas toes quickly. A sharp heat rises in the pits of her stomach as the blonde dips her head to allow her lips to meet with the tip of her left earlobe._

 _"Bella," Rosalie breaths, solemnly, viciously even._ " _Kill me."_

 _The innocence of the pain and vexation startles her—_

...

An atmospheric lull conveys the sudden trepidation that previously overcame her. Her hands tremble as they come to push back the damp tresses of her thick locks. Bella had never heard of a voice sadder than her that of the teen in her dream—departed by its rueful destruction and detached from an owner that seemed to have abolished every inch of faith. Heartbeat despondent and soundly slower, and her defensive stance slackens; shoulders hunched she leans back onto the wooden headboard heavily.

She breaths into the thick and rattled silence, then: a solemn pair of lips twitch into a thin smile.

"I have this sadness and fury whenever I see you. Whose I haven't known. But I am starting to believe it to be yours." Bella murms softly into the darkness of her room.

Her stare finds the slither of the luminous moon emitting from the slit of the black curtains. Mind overtaken by the blonde beauty profoundly resolute in her solitude.

* * *

 _ **It's short. Sue me.**_


End file.
